For the Cat Who Ruled My World: How a Velvet-Lined Urn Honors His Royalty
The King of Sunbeams and Sofas
King was no With fur like midnight silk and eyes that glowed like emeralds, he ruled my apartment from the highest perch: the back of the sofa, the windowsill, or my laptop keyboard (when he deemed my work unimportant). He demanded breakfast at 7 a.m. sharp, inspected every new piece of furniture for “throne potential,” and communicated in a language of slow blinks and disdainful meows—“Fetch my sardines, peasant.”For 14 years, he wasn’t a pet; he was a monarch, and I, his loyal subject.
When the Crown Fell
At 15, King’s reign weakened. He stopped inspecting furniture, his jumps grew clumsy, and the sunbeam he’d claimed for a decade went unoccupied. The vet’s voice was gentle: “His kingdom is tired.” I held him as he took his last breath, his head resting on my hand—still regal, even in farewell. The apartment felt like a castle without a king, and I needed a throne for his final rest.
A Velvet Throne for His Ashes
Generic urns felt like peasant boxes. King deserved luxury. I found a velvet-lined urn—deep purple, like the cape he’d pretend to wear, with a soft satin interior that felt like his fur. The exterior was polished wood, engraved with his royal title: “King, 2009–2023, Ruler of Sunbeams & Snacks.”Inside, I placed his jeweled collar (a gift for his 10th “coronation”), a tuft of his midnight fur, and a sardine-shaped note: “Long live the King.”
Feeling His Majesty in the Velvet
Touching the urn is like feeling his presence. The velvet is cool at first, my hands—just as he’d warm my lap for hours. I run my fingers over the engraved crown, and remember how he’d arch his back when I brushed him, as if accepting homage. The satin lining cradles his ashes like a royal cloak, and sometimes, I swear I smell his favorite tuna, mixed with the faint scent of lavender (his “crown perfume”).
A Kingdom of Love, Not Dust
King is gone, but his velvet urn rules my shelf—a monument to a reign of joy, snacks, and silent commands. It’s not a container for ashes; it’s a throne for his memory, a reminder that even in farewell, he deserves the royal treatment he commanded in life.
